Casino Night Revisited
by Maegquareiel
Summary: One Shot. Complete. This is for those of us who really wanted Casino Night to end differently. Please review!


Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with The Office or its characters.

Please review guys. This is my first attempt at any kind of lemon.

His lips are a catalyst as soon as he's pressed them to hers, and she explodes in reaction. She could not have known he would kiss her and she certainly would never have expected it, but her body suffers no confusion as her hands move blindly up to tangle in the messy hair she loves so much. The kiss is not demanding; he's giving her room to run and she knows it. But for a blissful moment, she closes the gap he's opened and pushes herself into his mouth, wanting more and taking it. The moist heat of him draws her in and she is losing herself in it when he steps back, taking a deep uncertain breath.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"Me too."

He smiles, reassured, and reaches for her. And though she is leaning into him again, she stops him with his name as a plea.

"You're really going to marry him?"

And in this moment she realizes that the taste of him in her mouth is so sweet she could die and if she answers yes she will never want that sweet death again. She thinks of her fiancé, and his sweat-slicked moon-round face turns her mouth ashy. She hates him and his complete lack of consideration. She hates that he has never, in all their time together, sparked the kind of want in her that this one kiss has in this one moment. She hates that she is already living her life as if it is complete though it is nothing like she dreamed it could be. And the word yes dies in her throat.

"No. No I'm not."

He stares at her, the grief he'd already prepared slowly melting from his features. For a moment he smiles, that knowing smile that she adores, and then the smile too fades away to be replaced with something that turns her insides to fire. His eyes darken and his hands on her tighten almost imperceptibly but enough that she knows that his mind is made up. And so is hers. God, so is hers, as he pulls her forward and sets his lips against hers, hard.

She can't help the little noise she makes in the back of her throat, and is shocked with herself when it escapes. She'd forgotten that these noises could be natural, not forced upon provocation. And now, as his tongue slowly traces the line of her bottom lip, asking for entrance, she lets loose the moan that has been building and delights in the feverish way his hands clutch at her in response.

Not since her first real kiss has a dance of tongues and teeth and lips excited her so thoroughly. She wants all of his mouth, all of it, now, and she steps into him, impossibly close, and explores him. She opens her eyes to see his flutter under his eyelids and smiles as he lets her take the lead. She draws his bottom lip between her teeth and leans back enough to elicit a groan from somewhere deep in his chest. She puts her hand there, feeling the rumble and the heartbeat, and is transfixed by its speed as she sweeps her tongue over his. His fingers are frantic on her back now, and this too gives her a secret thrill. She never knew she could be so forthright.

Her confidence is gone in a moment, though, as she is suddenly pushed backward into her own desk, her back arching, and he is reaching for her hips and grinding his into them. Their lips part as their lower bodies meet, and she crushes her forehead to his shoulder as he rocks against her. She knows he needs her, can feel it, and the very idea makes her knees weak.

This dance seems childish though, a mockery of what she wants. But she won't stop it, not when her heart is racing so that it seems as if it will burst from her chest. Not when he is pushing one leg between hers, hard enough to send jolts of electricity sparking behind her eyes. Not when she is throwing her head back for him to place open-mouthed kisses against her pulse. He's not asking permission now as his palms dance briefly over her belly before sliding up to touch her breasts. She hums low in her throat as he hefts their weight in his hands. She wants his hands against her skin, now, and suddenly realizes that her jellybean container is rattling against her shoulder and the hard outline of her computer's keyboard has etched itself into her hand.

"Jim," she breathes, not wanting to stop. Having to. "Not here."

He looks dazed for a moment and then confused. And then apologetic. She wants none of these responses.

"Not _here_. Can we go?"

He doesn't answer. Maybe he can't. But he takes her hand and leads her to his car.

The ride to his apartment is interminable and unbearably awkward. But she is still thrumming with want inside and she hopes, maybe even prays, that he is too and will be still when they get there. She watches his hands on the steering wheel, knuckles whitened, and even his bare forearms add to the heat coursing through her. She's always loved the way he rolls his sleeves. At any other time, she'd laugh at herself for being so turned on by such a minor detail. Not now. Now she presses her legs together in an attempt to stave off the hunger and forces herself to focus on the road. On anything. On anything else.

So when they finally arrive, her pulse has steadied enough that she realizes she doesn't want to rush.

"Can I borrow some pajamas?"

The puzzlement on his face is amusing. But if she is amused by his puzzlement, he certainly is as well. He knows her. He loves her. He doesn't ask questions. He brings her a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and lets her into his room to change. She takes off her dress and shakes out her hair, leaving her customary barrette on the table near his bed. The boxers are plaid and the t-shirt is baggy and she slips them on over her bare skin, leaving her bra and panties in a heap on the floor. Even that seems unbearably erotic.

He's sitting on the couch in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with remote in hand flicking through the channels. He looks up at her and pauses in that way she loves, that says exactly how beautiful he thinks she looks. She smiles and slides onto the couch, her head in his lap, and steals the remote choosing a cheesy popcorn action flick that she won't have to pay attention to at all. She puts down the remote, says nothing, and puts her hand on his thigh, moving it slowly back and forth, just enough that he knows she has not forgotten why they came here.

A heartbeat passes, maybe two, before she can bear the absence of him no longer and she turns to look into his eyes. They're smoldering with want, but also bright with love of her and she feels something inside of her burn as he looks into her.

"We don't have to….."

As if she had that kind of self-control. He says it to be polite, to show that he doesn't want to rush her, but this is as slow as she's willing to go right now, so she runs her hand high up his leg, so close, that he stops talking and just leans down to capture her mouth. The kiss is soft and gentle and she moans quietly into it before sitting up and shifting her body over his, her legs around his hips. She's glad they changed out of their casino night clothes. The thin material of his boxers hides nothing and she can feel the hardness of him against her and she rocks toward it, eliciting a moan from him. His hands climb her thighs, slipping higher so that they cup her and pull her closer, tight, and she is sure he can feel how ready she is.

But something in her gives her pause, makes her want to savor the moment. That same something that told her to leave the office. That same something that told her to change into pjs as if they were an old married couple. The something that brought her into his arms tonight. It hasn't let her down so far. She's going to listen to it.

So she leans back, pulling her lips from is and fighting to ignore the way her movement has brought their lower bodies even closer, and reaches for the hem of his shirt. He smiles lazily and though they don't speak, she can almost hear him chuckling at her audacity with her last name sounding like an affectionate nickname. She pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it behind her, her lips descending to his collarbone almost immediately. He leans his head back on the couch with a groan and she smiles against his skin, laying wet kisses down the center of his chest before flicking her tongue lightly against one of his nipples. His breath catches and his hips buck against hers.

"I never figured you for a temptress, Beesly."

She smiles at the name, the way he says it, and laughs inwardly for knowing him so well. But a part of her knows that she is taking her time because she's nervous. Her soon-to-be ex-fiance is the only man she's slept with in nine years. She knows the things he likes, the places he wants her tongue, but Jim is so different. He is all hard planes and angles where Roy was soft and malleable. Fat, if she is going to be honest.

And yet, though she is all nerves, she seems to have no trouble drawing out groans of pleasure from Jim, his hands pushing hard against her and his hips writhing into hers. She runs her nails down his belly, just hard enough to leave faint red marks, and then scoots her body backwards to lick at them gently. She knows she is apologizing to him, as her hands trace his inner thighs and her teeth grab at his jaw. Apologizing for all the time wasted. He's not angry, and somehow that makes it so much worse.

She stops suddenly as his hands force her body forward, her center pressed against him once more. He leaves one hand against her and the other cups her breast. She sighs at the feeling of its weight in his hand, without the barrier of a bra, and then gasps as his thumb runs slow circles around her nipple.

"Jim……", she breathes, her hands in his hair, when he lowers his head and rubs his cheek against her other breast.

His name is an incantation and suddenly he is standing, his hands under her and her legs wrapped around his waist. He takes long strides into his bedroom and she throws her arms around his neck, breathing in the heady scent of him and placing tiny kisses against his pulse point.

There is an urgency here, but no rush, as he places her on his bed and then closes the door behind them. It's not the same room she so unceremoniously made her own before, plopping herself down and flipping through his yearbook, but it's his and everything in it feels so strongly of him that she feels safe.

He joins her on the bed, his long body stretched out beside her and begins to stroke her side, her belly, the curve of her breast, her thighs. She enjoys being so explored and stops only to giggle as he finds a ticklish spot just near her belly button. He lifts the t-shirt, places a kiss there, and says, "we'll come back to this spot later". There is definitely no time for tickling now as his hand travels her thigh and then reaches around to climb the inside of her leg, his fingers brushing her center through the fabric of the boxers she is wearing. Maybe she moans, she's not sure. His hand is her entire world as he slips the boxers over her hips and leaves her no time to be embarrassed before he finds the wetness between her legs and strokes her, his fingers coming up to find the spot that bends her body into an arch shape. She can feel her insides tightening, in that sick sweet way she loves and hasn't experienced in a long time, and groans when he pulls his hand away.

But he is slipping the shirt over her head and she is naked in front of him. She shivers with shyness and opens her eyes to Jim staring down at her, with something like the dumbfounded look he so frequently gives the camera in his eyes and has only another moment to be uncomfortable before his mouth is on her breast and his hand has returned to its place at her center. She's never made noises like she's making right now or wanted anything so badly as she wants completion. His tongue is tasting her nipple and she is so close, so close, that she grabs his head in her hands and closes her legs tightly against him.

"Jim……together. Please."

He nods and leans forward to kiss her as she sits up and pulls the pajama pants he's wearing down his legs and then to the floor. There's just enough moonlight in the room that she can see all the angles of his body stretched out in front of her. The sight gives her a moment's pause; this is hers now. And she could have lost it.

Tears sting her eyes as she leans over him, the curls of her hair brushing his chest as she kisses him slowly.

"Thank you so much for waiting." Her voice trembles as she says it, and it may have taken her years to get it out, but he's silent as he gently brushes the tears away and rolls her over, his chest and belly pressing into hers. She can feel him between her legs, now, pressing insistently and she freezes.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his entire body stilling with concern.

She's embarrassed but the fear has returned. "Nothing, it's just…….I've only ever done this with…."

He stops her from saying it by slowly pushing himself inside and the name she was about to say turns into a groan. It's so different, so very different from all the other times, and she knows he isn't moving so she can take the time to realize who it is that's inside of her, and how that feels. As if she could confuse the two. Jim is filling her in a way that feels like everything will be alright, that all the dreams she's tossed away are possible, and she moans his name so he knows how she feels. Smiling a little, crying a little, he presses his lips to the space between her breasts and then withdraws just enough that her hips chase him and he growls.

She likes his rhythm, slow and deep, and she rocks against him with every motion. She keeps her eyes open, though she never has before, and loves the way his face contorts, as if he is losing himself within her. There are tears pooling under his lashes, as she is certain they are under hers, and she gently reaches up to wipe them away, smiling when he looks down at her and then throwing her head back as he plunges in deeply. She can feel that rise, again, that sick torturous tightening that she staved off before, and she arches towards it. His pace quickens and he slips a hand under her knee, lifting her leg so that it wraps around his waist and she wraps the other one around him too, bringing him impossibly deeper.

He is whispering her name, his lips against her breast, and the sound of it is like possession. Her hands come up without any thought to grip the lean muscles of his back, her nails tightening into his skin.

"Please……oh god, Jim, please. Harder."

He falters for a moment, loses his rhythm at her request, said in a throaty whisper and then responds, gripping her hips and thrusting inside, hard enough for her head to bounce against the pillows. Part of her wants this ache to last forever, to tell him to slow down so that it will last. But there will be time for that later. Now, she can feel her breasts pressed into him with each thrust, can feel his muscles tightening under her hands, and she needs to be completed.

And so does he. He's becoming erratic, murmuring her name over and over, and she's afraid for a moment that this will be like all her other experiences. He's closer than she is and she'll be left behind.

But suddenly he slows, just the tiniest bit, and brings his mouth to her breast and one hand between them, urging her ahead of him. Low moans come from her, one after another, faster as she gets closer. He joins her in them, their voices a kind of chorus as his thumb presses her and his tongue teases her nipples. And oh god, it's there, that first pulse of white-hot sensation and his teeth scraping gently against her nipple pushes her over the edge. Her body clenches around him, her hips bucking against his and she cries out, her head thrown back and her nails pushing mercilessly into his skin. He joins her the next moment, his body shuddering and his face pressing into her neck.

For a handful of heartbeats they breathe heavily together, his body a solid weight atop hers. He moves to roll over, but she crosses her ankles against his back to hold him in place.

"Don't move," she says and he chuckles lightly against her skin.

"I don't think I can anyway." His voice is all humor and that isn't really what she wants, nor what she meant.

He pushes himself up on his hands and looks into her face. "I'm not going anywhere."

She smiles, a tear or two running over her cheek.

"Okay. Me neither."

Please tell me what you think!


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